As she pours forth her wrath in unjust words, her
voice becomes coarse, takes on the intonations of
the faubourg, an accent of the common people which
betrays the ex-apprentice of Mademoiselle Le Mire.

Risler is unlucky enough to make a remark.

“Who knows? Perhaps the child is ill.”

She turns upon him in a fury, as if she would like
to bite him.

“Will you hold your tongue about that brat?
After all, it’s your fault that this has happened
to me. You don’t know how to make people
treat me with respect.”

And as she closed the door of her bedroom violently,
making the globes on the lamps tremble, as well as
all the knick-knacks on the etageres, Risler, left
alone, stands motionless in the centre of the salon,
looking with an air of consternation at his white
cuffs, his broad patent-leather shoes, and mutters
mechanically:

“My wife’s reception day!”

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Affectation of indifference
Always smiling condescendingly
Convent of Saint Joseph,
four shoes under the bed!
Deeming every sort of
occupation beneath him
Dreams of wealth and
the disasters that immediately followed
He fixed the time mentally
when he would speak
Little feathers fluttering
for an opportunity to fly away
No one has ever been
able to find out what her thoughts were
Pass half the day in
procuring two cakes, worth three sous
She was of those who
disdain no compliment
Such artificial enjoyment,
such idiotic laughter
Superiority of the man
who does nothing over the man who works
Terrible revenge she
would take hereafter for her sufferings
The groom isn’t
handsome, but the bride’s as pretty as a picture
The poor must pay for
all their enjoyments

FROMONT AND RISLER

By ALPHONSE DAUDET

BOOK 2.

CHAPTER VII

THE TRUE PEARL AND THE FALSE

“What can be the matter? What have I done
to her?” Claire Fromont very often wondered
when she thought of Sidonie.